<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Getaway Package by extryn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803493">Getaway Package</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn'>extryn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who &amp; Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Humor, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Bickering, Characters Playing Animal Crossing Game(s), Electrocution, Light Torture, M/M, Time War Eighth Doctor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:41:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master discovers the Doctor's island in Animal Crossing, with sinister intent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eighth Doctor/The War Master (Jacobi)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Getaway Package</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Because Eight is totally the kind of person who would love his weeds as much as his rare hybrid roses.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘No,’ the Doctor groaned, shifting his dead weight in the manacles, ‘Not again.’</p><p>He ought to expect it, by now. Waking up groggy, his memory steadfastly blank, and his very best enemy keeping a gleeful eye upon him from the shadows. </p><p>‘Oh, you’re awake!’ the Master exclaimed, effusive, his disarming veil of bumbling simplicity. It did nothing but to heighten the Doctor’s alarm, sluggish adrenaline now picking up momentum. The Master -<em> this </em>Master - had killed as many people while being <em>jolly</em> than while insinuating threats into their ears. </p><p>Wary, the Doctor felt along his restraints out of habit more than any real hope of escape.</p><p>‘What shall it be this time, Master? Imprisonment? Subjugation? Torture?’ the Doctor said, voice teetering between a hiss and a sigh. ‘Or did you abduct me and chain me to a wall just to have a <em>chat</em>?’ </p><p>Chuckling, rich and delighted, the Master stepped into the light. ‘Why, Doctor, I’m an excellent multitasker.’</p><p>The Doctor grimaced; his headache was concentrating into a spot on the back of his head, smarting awfully when it touched the stone wall. ‘How long have I—’ His body, senses almost fully returned, supplied his answer.</p><p>Aghast, the Doctor transfixed the Master with a wide-eyed glare. ‘Let me down. Let me down this instant, please, you’ve got to—my turnip prices!’ </p><p>The Master recoiled so visibly, it nearly resembled a flinch. ‘Your <em>what</em>?’ </p><p>‘It’s almost midday,’ the Doctor wailed. ‘You don’t understand, I’ve been waiting all week, I’ve spent all my bells—’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ the Master replied, a frustrated eye-roll adding some weight to his rather forced scoff. ‘I see.’ He paused in his slow, cat-like stalk towards the Doctor, as if something had jumped in front of him. ‘Don’t you own a <em>time machine</em>, Doctor?’ </p><p>‘They rot,’ the Doctor said, miserably. ‘They <em>rot</em> if you travel in time.’</p><p>‘I would have thought these childish games were quite beneath your intellect,’ the Master said, irritation flattening the tones of his voice. He slid a hand pointedly into his pocket.</p><p>The Doctor transfixed him with a glare, willing his eyes to act where his body could not. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’</p><p>The manicured angles of the Master’s face briefly dipped into a frown. ‘Oh, this?’ Reaching into his opposite pocket, he extracted the Doctor’s Nintendo Switch. ‘No, hardly.’</p><p>The Doctor nearly managed a sigh of relief, before the single pair of electrodes he hadn’t realised were taped to his flank burst into life, contorting the muscles in his body with unnatural force. His chest seized too tightly to scream. </p><p>It ended as abruptly as it started, and with hardly a moment to catch his breath, the Doctor flung himself against the chains. ‘Give that back.’</p><p>‘Or <em>what</em>?’ the Master replied, now exasperated, prodding the console’s buttons as if he could dissect it himself. Or, the Doctor realised, hack it—</p><p>‘No, no, <em>no</em>!’ His right leg, numbed by the shock, crumbled without warning and the Doctor yelped as the shackles cut a line across the bones of his wrist.</p><p>The Master squinted at the screen, angling it purposefully away from the Doctor, but the opening jingle was indisputable. </p><p>The Doctor slumped, wincing, his muscles already aching. ‘Please. What do you want?’ </p><p>This managed to attract the Master’s attention; how long for, the Doctor could only hope. He made a great show of letting the game console fall to his side, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the plastic shell. ‘Your help,’ he said, eventually. Not a trace of admission, no resignation. He’d slipped the words into place like a threat. </p><p>In the same breath, the Doctor knew he couldn’t agree. Whatever this was, whatever instruction or plan or mission the Master intended, there was nothing in the universe worth cooperating with him for. Not anymore. </p><p>‘No,’ the Doctor admitted. He caught himself about to sigh, and steeled his voice again; stronger, this time, adamant. Let him do his worst. ‘Then you’re wasting your time. My answer is no.’</p><p>The Master allowed himself a chuckle, luxuriating in it long enough that it became a deep laugh, the kind that ought to have squeezed tears from his eyes. ‘Why, Doctor, I haven’t even told you what it’s for!’ </p><p>The Doctor looked to the ceiling - the dull, dirty underside of a concrete floor. He knew a blow was coming: another shock, perhaps the sound of the Switch shattering, the strike of a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I want nothing to do with it, nothing to do with <em>you</em>.’</p><p>Electricity spasmed through his side, wringing his muscles and rendering them senseless in equal turn, his breath escaping in an animal groan. Shuddering, unable to get his feet back under him, the Doctor huffed in place of the laugh he was too breathless to voice. </p><p>‘No wonder you prefer the island on your little <em>game</em>,’ the Master said, his voice as casual as his shrug, his sigh, only his ever-present anger betraying him. ‘You’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else that isn’t devastated by war. This endless, pointless <em>war</em>.’</p><p>The Doctor found, inexplicably, that he wanted, no, <em>needed</em> to respond to this, to speak to the only person who might understand—</p><p>No.</p><p>‘Island?’ the Doctor repeated, brows furrowed. He clenched his hands in thought. ‘When did I mention an <em>island</em>?’ </p><p>Caught, the Master bristled, turning to the side. ‘Well, never mind that! The Time Lords, Doctor—’ </p><p>‘You’ve been playing it, too,’ the Doctor gaped, the pieces snapping together. ‘I know what this is. You, you’ve come to take my peaches! My lillies!’ </p><p>The Master appeared viciously offended by this. ‘Your <em>peaches</em>? What do you think I am, Doctor, an imbecile? You think I haven’t sufficient supply of my own?’ </p><p>‘Stealing from other people’s trees isn’t a supply chain!’ </p><p>Pulling the hidden remote from his pocket, the Master raised a finger above its singular button, forgoing words for clean intent. </p><p>‘Go ahead,’ the Doctor sniffed. ‘Electrocute me, if you want. You’ve always been incapable of carrying out your own schemes without exploiting someone else’s hard work.’ </p><p>‘Fine,’ the Master snapped. ‘Let’s see this precious <em>work</em> you’ve done, shall we?’</p><p>Fear, hammering his hearts into his throat, now had competition: a warm burst of pride. The Doctor, at last standing to his full height, craned his neck to see the screen. ‘You should start at the airport,’ he explained, ‘I’ve set up a visitor’s welcome.’</p><p>The Master squinted at the screen. ‘Are you quite sure this is—oh, <em>please</em> tell me this is a mystery island.’</p><p>‘Why do you say that?’ the Doctor froze, drawing back. </p><p>The Master gave the Doctor a withering look. ‘You simply can’t be serious. You’ve played—’ he quickly pressed a button, ‘—<em>four hundred and sixty-eight hours</em> of this game, and you haven’t even <em>weeded</em>!’</p><p>The Doctor spluttered. ‘What—why would I! I <em>like</em> them.’ Almost within reach, he lunged for the Master, aware it was only a matter of moments before the Master mortgaged his house, or tore up his flowerbeds - or worse, sent away Goldie.</p><p>‘You haven’t done a single thing in this game,’ the Master bellowed, ‘and you’d rather <em>check your turnip prices</em> than talk about the war destroying our species? What do you even <em>use </em>them for!’ </p><p>Defeated, if only momentarily, the Doctor sagged until he could feel his fingers again. ‘I like gardening.’</p><p>‘Gardening,’ the Master repeated, thumbing the joystick with a disgusted sort of awe, ‘You call this gardening?’ </p><p>The Doctor refused to dignify this with an answer. </p><p>‘And this!’ the Master continued. He thrust the screen under the Doctor’s nose, his gestures expanding , irritation whistling out the edges of his exterior. ‘What the devil are you wearing?’</p><p>He had to admit, even under the circumstances, the Doctor still found himself delighted by the ensemble. It had taken far too much time simply <em>finding</em> all the elements, let alone assembling the frog costume - he’d somehow neglected to purchase a mirror during his travels - ‘I designed the facepaint myself,’ the Doctor announced, ‘It’s been downloaded over three hundred—<em>ah!</em>’</p><p>‘That <em>wasn’t</em> a question, Doctor,’ the Master snapped, releasing the button with a decisive flick of his finger.</p><p>The Doctor opened his mouth, ready to retaliate, only to find the breath torn from him—shallow gasps convulsed within his throat, accentuating the uneasy silence between them. His guttural moan rang far too loudly in such an empty soundscape.</p><p>The Master sighed in turn, as ragged and heavy as if he were the one who’d been strung up and tortured. ‘I must admit, when you first mentioned this <em>device</em>, I thought it might prove rather a useful tool.’ He eyed the Doctor with distaste; limp in his chains, barely holding his own weight. ‘But perhaps carrots and sticks are a little too much to expect from someone who might be more suited to playing with a rattle.’</p><p>Sweat ran down the Doctor’s sides. He flung his head back against the wall, the cold <em>thump</em> centering his thoughts, willing his calf to stop shaking. ‘Give it up, Master. I’m not. Interested.’</p><p>‘Then you won’t mind if I do a little terraforming, will you,’ the Master said, even and too-slow and buoyant. </p><p>The Doctor strained weakly from the wall, aware he was panting hard, feeble in his efforts. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered. ‘You’re wasting your time.’</p><p>The Master smiled at him, cruel and fond. ‘After all, that’s what this little <em>game</em> is for, hmm? Wasting our time. To play at the idea of it; the hours slipping through our fingers like smoke, the passage of time taking each moment further out of reach. But we’re Time Lords, Doctor.’ His voice took on the curled melody of a smirk. ‘You can’t hide from it.’</p><p>The Doctor said nothing. Merely shifted, uneasily, in his chains.</p><p>‘Tell me,’ the Master said, face twisted into something dark and knotted. It was at terrible odds with the way his voice seemed to undress; loosen its tie after a long day, exchange a stiff French collar with a warm pullover. ‘What do <em>you</em> want?’</p><p>‘I? I could do this all day. I could keep you here, like this, never <em>quite</em> knowing where the next blow might land. You might eventually lose your mind.’ the Master mused. ‘You certainly wouldn’t be the first. I could tear up every last flower, raze every building to the ground. ‘I could,’ he continued, drawing close, his voice regaining its cadence and dragging the Doctor under as if a current, ‘destroy everybody you love, turn them against you, perhaps. And you, my dear Doctor,’ the Master slipped a hand over the button, ‘could simply help me of your own free will, or wait until the Time Lords remove it from you.’</p><p>The Doctor stared at a fixed point, somewhere beyond the Master. ‘I’ve made my choice,’ he said, quietly.</p><p>‘Pity,’ said the Master.</p><p>He might have otherwise considered what that choice <em>was </em>- but it was a long, long time before the Doctor could think of anything but screaming.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>